Could It Be That We Have Been This Way Before

Jack flicked up an eyebrow at his words and could not help but let an amused smile escape. Vito would feel the need to have to prove his status of superiority over the people in his club and it always amused her to see just how he did that. He had laughed again, which she knew irritated him, but she took it as a small victory. How many times had she caused him to laugh, to raise his voice, to act un-Vito-ish...

He was staring in the mirror again, and she warily glanced at it, as though it was the object that had caused this whole mess, as opposed to four beings with completely different motivations and ideals. It always seemed like the mirror had played in some part in this screwy little soap opera of a situation, and it had never fared well for Jack when the mirror had been around.

At his words on the mirror Jack rolled her eyes, feeling a uncontrollable shiver that she understood right away. She had a feeling it had to be Chase or Andrew. Since the former had been so preoccupied on her visit to Satin's she assumed it had to be the latter, but either way, it was a subject that she really felt no need to delve in to.

Vito offered to let her open the first bottle and she sneered at his taunt. "Of course I do." She seized a bottle and pulled out her wand, tapping the neck of the bottle. With an amusing pop sound, the cork dislodged itself. She knew that had not been what he had meant, but she did not care. Her eyes shot to the bottle and she brought it to her lips, taking a swig. Wincing, she swallowed and held it out to Vito. "Cheers."

OOC: Not my best work. I might be adding more in over time to round it out- not dialogue or anything that would really change anything in your reply, though.

Within seconds of the challenging words falling from Vito’s lips, Jack Dyllan had managed to get the bottle of wine open- though it had been by magical means, she had still managed to do as Vito had suggested, and those were the terms and agreements between the two of them when it came to challenges. There seemed to be far too many challenges going on between Vito and Jack those days, he had noticed, it had even become a bit of a routine every time he parted his lips, to speak words that would get Jack to do something she normally wouldn’t have. “Indeed…” He replied, sounding a bored with the conversation. Conversation was useless

Vito hadn’t turned away from the cracked mirror, in fact, his fingers hadn’t yet left the jagged edges of broken glass that he continued to trace as he spoke, slowly gliding the tips of his fingers along the sharp break in the mirror, wincing whenever a piece of his skin got caught, “Is it for their safety, or is it something to do with that nifty theory of yours that you’ll never accomplish anything?” the poltergeist asked. Vito recoiled when the broken glass he was playing with bit him suddenly, tearing into the skin of his index finger.

He took a few steps backwards; he had been expecting the pain, it had only been a matter of time before the glass had cut into his skin after all, but it had caught him by surprised, making it look a hell of lot less cooler than he had planned it to. “Eh…”the poltergeist hissed instinctively, holding his hand out before his face to examine the damage; though it had been deliberate, he did not want any permanent scaring anywhere on his body- no, injury was something that appealed to him when he wasn’t the victim, which was usually where Jack came into the picture- or more like, slammed her way into the picture, since she always had to be invited to the party.

Vito watched silently, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk as a droplet of dark red- almost black – liquid slipped out of the tear in his skin, gliding gracefully down his finger until it reached his wrist, and then his arm where it stopped, as if hit by some sort of invisible magic rendering it incapable of any further movement. More droplets began to form at the source, intertwining like red spider webs at his wrist and about his arm until finally, Vito averted his gaze.

Self injury wasn’t something that Vito Dee Symons was fond of; he held himself very highly, as everyone who had ever been ‘lucky’ enough to run into him had found, and therefore, he had to have had some sort of motive behind the action.

“Come here, darling,” he cooed abruptly, motioning for Jack to come towards him with his bloodied hand, his smirk turning into a thoughtful frown, though it didn’t loose an ounce of its worth on the ‘menacing scale’. Vito took a few determined steps forward, his high-priced shoes clicking loudly against the hardwood floors as he neared his redhead, outstretching his right arm enough to touch the skin upon the side of Jack Dyllan’s face, “I just want to see it again…” he spoke under his breath, his words only to be heard by himself, Jack, and the dust mites that glided in the air about their faces.

“It’s okay,” came Jack’s voice again, but that time, there was sorrow behind it- pain even, and when Vito looked up from the grass to see if he could spot the redhead, his heart sped up quickly; there she was, lying in there on the ground with bruises coloring the skin of her arms and her face- but it was the bloodied head that had caught Vito’s attention. “What’s the matter, Vito? Angry your guardian went bye bye?”

Vito’s dark red blood smeared upon Jack’s fair skin. The colors did not match, and so it was like trying to paint a picture with two completely different colors that contrasted oddly with each other- but Vito didn’t tear his eyes away from the small patch of skin where he had smudged a drop of the ‘paint’. His own skin flickered; a, sad, pathetic, dying light bulb- and once again he felt vomit slowly begin to climb up his throat.

Jack was watching Vito quietly, interest and confusion sparking as he examined the mirror, focusing on it. When had Vito become so pensive? She knew he was not vapid or thoughtless, but it was unusual for him to be so quiet and distant in this sort of situation. Vito and Jack both liked action. They did not observe and mull things over, but plunged into situations. Well, maybe not so much for Vito. But still, his behavior was peculiar. Why was he moving so slowly, speaking so quietly, and being so thoughtful. Especially while alcohol awaited.

He was running his fingers along the jagged edges of the broken mirror, another activity that made Jack raise her eyebrows. To risk scarring his perfect hands... Very out of character for the vain poltergeist who had been okay with hurting her over a ripped jacket, let alone ripped skin. She had seen the flicker of fear and disgust the night he had broken his hand. She was no fool. She knew that anything less than perfection would not do. Why he could stand to associate with her, the most imperfect person she knew, was beyond her level of comprehension.

His finger cut on the mirror, but something in the way he did so told her that he had been expecting to cut himself. A question burbled in her throat. "Wha-" She stopped herself. She felt as though she were in some ancient library and that to speak ruined the aura of the circumstance. She felt as though she were standing on the ledge of something, and even the slightest disruption would send her toppling.

He told her to come towards him and her first instinct was to shake her head and tell him there was no way in hell. But her curiosity was too much and she lurched a step forward before a strange chill came over her at the sight of his expression. Something weird was going on, she could see it now, and she stopped, crossing her arms in irritable defiance. Suddenly, though, he was striding towards her, muttering that he wanted to see it again... She dropped her arms and took a step back, "What-?"

His bloodied finger brushed her face and she immediately pulled herself away, feeling offended and confused. "What the hell!?" she demanded in a strong, but somehow lost voice. She stared up at him in confusion and mild shock, clapping a hand over the side of her face as Vito stared and suddenly flickered. She wiped away the blood and stared up at him, too distracted by this strange turn of events to do anything about the blood. In a small, disturbed voice, she said, "What was that? What... what are you doing?"

There was no difference between the last time Vito had seen Jack Dyllan covered in her own blood, and then, when only a droplet of his own was smeared upon her cheek; it was all the same as far as his gut was concerned, for he still felt as if he were about to double over and give up the day’s meals to his bedroom’s carpeted floors. “Oh shut up…” Vito groaned in reply to Jack’s squeaky-voiced questions, which she seemed to have an unending supply of, “wipe that off of your face,” he added as an afterthought, waving the situation off- as if such a thing could be done; after all, he believed he was the king of the world, so *why was believing that he had the magical ability to erase memories any different.

The temperature of the air in the room had changed dramatically due to Vito’s little show; it felt as if a window had been left open, and Father Time had decided that winter was to come much earlier that year. Vito noticed as he once again met Jack’s confused and somewhat disgusted eyes- disgust, she was looking at him with disgust in her eyes? Vito parted his lips slowly, preparing to speak, but the jumbled letters within his head would not form words; she was disgusted with him. He’d seen it in the eyes of many others before, but he had been sure to end their lives for having aloud such thoughts of him to pass through their minds- a task that he had already tried and failed at once. It was as if she couldn't. die.

The poltergeist wrapped his fingers around the neck of the glass bottle that Jack was holding, tearing it from her grip with ease, having already thrown her off guard with his random acts, bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips. He was still standing relatively close to the redhead, but had, within the time it had taken him to conclude that somehow Jack had managed to burrow her way through the skin and bone of his thick, damaged skull, and was now lying, spread out like a starfish across his mind, playing with his emotions as if each one were a string belonging to a puppet, move a few steps away from her.

Over the time Vito had known Jack, she had gained too much control over the way his brain functioned, and it took the action of smearing his blood across her skin for him to realize this for himself.

“I'm better than you,” he told her, his words harsh and to the point, as if his breath was much too important to waist, but there was something more behind his words; an almost… blaming quality to them, as if he thought it her fault he couldn’t rid the world of her for good without spending the evening drinking away his sorrow. He could break her, he could rattle her, but he as far as his stomach was concerned, he couldn’t lay a finger on her. His words had been a gift to himself; reassurance, nothing more, and yet, they seemed to do nothing other than plant seeds of doubt deep within him.

Vito glanced downward at his bloodied hand, having received a sharp sting from the injury when his own breath left his nostrils and swept over the torn skin. The cut itself wasn’t something to fuss over; it wasn’t anything compared to the injuries he had received previously, such as the ones Chase Moor and Andrew Thompson had both given him- though he managed to relief his skin of the scars from both accessions with the help of a few ‘friends’. Vito turned his hand over, examining it, drinking from his bottle of alcohol all the while, only parting the lips of the bottle from his own to speak, for he did very much enjoy the sound of his own, almost musical voice, “The nightmare has been a… reoccurring one- yes, let's call it a nightmare. I thought perhaps when that friend of yours kicked me in the head I’d received some sort of brain damage”- Vito scoffed, as if the thought of him receiving any sort of brain damage was simply incomprehensible, despite the fact that he had been the one to speak those very words- “it appears, however, that I was wrong,” he finished with a roll of his eyes, flicking them in a circular motion, skilled at doing just that. “That is one of the reasons I was never effected by that red hair of yours, darling; I'm actracted to the redheads becuase it reminds me of blood on their skulls, but I can't seeing blood on you,” Vito added- he had a needle for stitching wounds such as thus one around his bedroom somewhere, didn’t he?

Vito began to scan the area with his eyes, looking about for the small, silver colored tool that would assist him in threading his broken skin back together, “but then again, if we’re going to be playing Truth-or-Dare, we’ve got to finish off a bottle first, don’t we?” he commented, the sarcastic amusement made very clear; Vito was very fluent in that language indeed.

*As a poltergeist, Vito Dee Symons has the ability to change the way human beings see him with their own eyes, and the way he sees himself, or to go back to his natural form, which is complete transparency- but when it comes to magical, wizarding abilities, Vito is only able to do the unforgiveable curses, despite the fact that he did, at one point, attend Hogwarts classes in order to keep a close eye on one of his creatures. Vito is able to use the unforgivable curses because of the amount of hatred that is required in order to cast them, due to the fact that he is built up of nothing but hate. This is the reason Vito often resorts to Muggle ways when it comes to defending himself, cleaning up messes, and healing wounds- though he does find himself a capable witch or wizard whenever he is able.

Jack stared at him. He had done this odd little act all on his own. She had not asked him to frighten her with his strange little ritual or whatever it was, and then he was mad at her! She stared at him as he told her to shut up, ordering her to wipe the blood off of her face. As if it had been her idea, as though she had been trying to taunt him with it. Because, as always, it was her fault again.

He tore the bottle of wine away from her and said that he was better than her and she felt the look of fear and uncertaintly fall off of her face as she screwed on one of frustrated pain. "Thank you," she said in a cold voice. "Thank you for that little snipe. I know that you had to say it for your own failing confidence and not to just kill off whatever calmness was in me, so thank you for that."

She started to turn away and he began to speak. She did not look at him for awhile, unable to look at him without falling apart, but eventually she was able to meet his eyes with her usual defiance. She stared at him, wondering what he was trying to achieve. She thought they had escaped to forget, but it seemed he did not want to get over it.. He liked to pick at the past like a bad sore, picking at it until it ripped open, unleashing who knew what.

He said something about drinking before they continued this session of truth or dare. She stared at him, appalled, and then... in a voice full of strength she did not know she had she said, "You can't keep doing this." She took a step towards him, anger welling on her face. "How is any of that my fault!? Vito, all I've ever asked for around you is banter. And you get mad at me because I make you feel human emotions! That is not my fault." She stared at him. "Guess what? I get on your nerves. You get on mine. We get under each other's skin. Do you see me waiting for you to get the edge and then poking you, just to watch you topple in the air for a second? No. Then why must you do it to me!? Are you feeling actual emotions? That's on you! Are you unable to see me hurt? That's on you! And you know what?!"

She raised the hand, smeared with his own blood and wiped it on her own brow again. "That's on you, too." She said this in a dangerous voice, stepping closer to ensure he would see it. "I'm tired of you instigating things, waiting for me to react, and then blaming it on me. Because it's not on me! It's on you!" She stared at him. "Stop being a hypocrite." Her voice was quiet, but this was an order. "You don't like to see me hurt? Stop hurting me."

Perhaps Vito was incapable of allowing Jack, or himself, to feel at peace for even the shortest of moments- that would, after all, explain why he had gone to such lengths to try and prove to himself that he was capable of hurting the young redhead, and why he had felt the sudden need to abandon his plans of getting her on his side only to break her. Occam’s razor did apply to many situations, indeed, what with the simplest explanation usually being the correct one- but Vito always had to complicate things, and chances were that that theory did not apply to any screwed up situation that Vito just so happened to play a supporting role in.

Then why must you do it to me!?

“I can’t help it!” Vito hissed in reply to her demanding questions, which continued to leap from her tongue and take a dive off of her unperfected lips, like angry birds eager to escape their cage after being locked away for much too long. She had been ready to explode all evening, but Vito had only just then given her a qualified reason to do so.

“You try feeling nothing for centuries, only to have foreign emotions injected into your bloodstream,” he continued, curling his fingers around the throat of the bottle in the hand that he hadn’t yet injured, until the skin above his knuckles began to turn a pale white, threatening to tear, and give way to the bones beneath. It had been quite a while since Vito had felt pure hatred towards Jack Dyllan; they had been on good terms, somehow, something they had done had made it possible for the two of them to interact with each other in a somewhat friendly way- but that had all been destroyed before Vito’s narrowed eyes the moment he had decided to use his troubled mind as a guide to his actions, “but you get your kicks out of watching me squirm- let’s see how much we can change the way Vito Dee Symons thinks, and then we’ll disappear…” There had once been a time when Vito had been greatly angered whenever he had revealed too much about himself, and it seemed that he had managed to once again reach that point of no return- like a finish line in a race, he was always the first to cross it.

In the past- every one of his pasts –Vito had made no such connects as he had made with Jack or Satins… oh how he would miss his beloved nightclub- but would he miss Jack? Now, those were poisonous thoughts, they did not belong in Vito’s skull, and were, therefore pushed out of his ears and rid of the second they entered his mind- but when he woke up on his back in the streets, his memory torn in several places, and his image destroyed as easily as a flame was able to ruin paper, when his time in London was over, would Vito think of the redheaded female who had tried to convince Vito Dee Symons that he was a “good person”?

Perhaps… momentarily.

Before the angered poltergeist was able to turn away from her in a sharp movement as he normally did when angered, Jack had taken a step towards him, and when Vito brought his eyes back in her direction to examine her expression, he was somewhat surprised to find a similar glint in her eyes that he himself had spotted in his own so very many times before; she had admitted that the two of them had their simularities, but the day Jack began to look at the world through Vito's eyes...

“If banter had been all you’d wanted, you would have left me on my own a long, long time ago, darling, because there is hardly any of that anymore…” he added, his voice lowered, and slowed once more; being a mean son of a b!tch was his forte- or so he had always told himself.

Jack Dyllan took Vito’s hand in her own and ran his bloodied skin across her face, leaving behind a steady trail of blood, as if Vito’s hand had been a paintbrush, and she was simply creating a work of art- Vito, however, could not believe that Jack would ever have the nerve to do such a thing; sure, she had always been much too curious for her own good, but this was not curiosity, this was pure cruelty- the stuff that bubbled and boiled within Vito’s ash colored heart, not Jack’s. “OK,” Vito agreed as she stood before him, only inches from him with his blood painted across her fair skin, “OK, OK, OK, OK, OK,” he continued, as if he had no other choice but to accept that the words the young female was speaking were the truth- anything, as long as she would wipe the blood from her skin, and allow him to be free of the dreadful feeling that had suddenly overthrown his entire being.

Jack heard all of his words as excuses, merely excuses, and she was never one for thinking much of a lousy excuse. Sure, it was not exactly a lousy excuse, his situation, for lack of a better summary, but still. What happened to Vito Dee Symons the badass who could do whatever the hell he pleased to do? Surely some self control would be easily mastered by the coolest poltergeist to step into Knockturn Alley. "I've never liked watching you squirm. That's your style. Not mine."

She ignored what he said about banter. Yes, she had instigated, but he had been the one that always pushed the line as far as he think he could, and then poked her in the back to send her toppling over it. She may have taken the step, but he was the one that had set all of the dominoes in place and then flicked that first domino, waiting to see if that last one could stand against all the pressure.

She had thought the act of taking his hand and smearing his blood on her face would piss him off, maybe weird him out a bit. But the reaction she got... was definitely not one she would have ever expected. She felt as though she had punched him, or had hurt him in some terrible way, and though her senses told her to take it back, she let the vision sink deeper into Vito's mind. She was frozen in this time for a second as he repeated his words over, a skipping record.

She slowly reached up and wiped her face with her forearm, red smearing across it, staring at him and not changing her expression nor her stance. She was still dangerously close to him and she had no intention of backing down. Their weird relationship had always been give and take, to keep the balance, and she could not give him this. She had the upperhand for once and she needed it. She stared at him, her face still defiantly neutral, before she finally said in a quiet voice, "OK, what?" She was telling him he owed her some answers, he owed her an explanation. She had one this round. She was here to claim her prize.

Half-relief was not the same as being relieved completely of one’s pain; it was like trying to take only a small dosage of Acetaminophen in order to rid one self of the pain of an ache deep within their bones; it was still there, despite the efforts of the medications that ran through your bloodstream- and Vito experienced this first hand when, in an attempt to wipe away Vito’s blood from her skin, Jack smeared most of it away, but left behind a red stain upon the side of her face, which Vito then had to try desperately to keep his eyes away from.

She had asked something, but the words had meant nothing to him the first time they had run through his ears, for he had been too distracted at the time to even consider that she would have anything important to say at that point. He could hear her question ringing somewhere in the back of his mind when he ordered his brain to repeat the information he had retained, but it sounded fuzzy, as if he were listening to a recording of her voice, and nothing more. He slowly rolled his knuckles slowly as an ache ran from his fingertips upward- why did they hurt, again? Vito glanced downward at his hand- the one which he hadn’t run along the broken glass of his mirror- to see that he still had a death grip on his bottle of wine, which had the name of his precious nightclub scribbled in his own handwriting across its label in a lazy-yet-charming script.

Lazy-yet-charming. A panther- but he had been torn from his thrown by a clever jackal, he knew so as he spoke, slowly dragging his eyes over to Jack’s until he met her demanding gaze, which was only inches below his own face, the short little thing, “OK; you have left me with no other choice you b!tch,” he couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, even if it was only a small bit sprinkled over his sentence- it was what made Vito so… insert complement here. The angered, wounded, poltergeist blinked lazily, as if their little argument had drained him of all the energy that he had once been full of, and motioned in the general direction of the bathroom that was built in to his grand bedroom, “Use water,” it was a simple command, but it was one that suggested that Vito was still in command of the situation, despite the fact that Jack had managed to tear him down so completely.

Much to the relief of his aching left hand, Vito brought the bottle he had been taking his anger out on previously, to his lips and stole a mouthful of liquid from the bottle, allowing the rim of the darkly colored bottle to hover near his lips for a moment, and for the wine to remain in his mouth, eating away at his tongue and the insides of his cheeks before he swallowed with a sigh, shaking his head to the side roughly, “Yum,” he stated simply in order to hear his voice in his own ears once more. Narcissism was a curse that Vito had picked up somewhere along the way during his ‘life’ as a life-stealing devil, perhaps he had inherited it from one of his creators- or maybe it had simply happened due to centuries upon centuries of being completely transparent to the rest of the world…

“I believe you get one point. We should keep a scoreboard around here somewhere, yeah?” Vito suggested dryly, though he had a good feeling the comment would get a bitter laugh out of the young female. He had admitted to defeat, but he had done it the only way an egotistical man could do so, and that was to make it seem as if he cared not of his loss- despite the battle that was going on within the walls of his skull.

Jack stared at him, wishing- not for the first time- that she could just peer quickly into the depths of Vito's mind and see what he was thinking, what was going on behind that mask that she never seemed to completely read correctly. She knew she could get that mask to slip, but beneath it was just more confusion and frustration waiting for her.

She did not react when he snapped at her, but she heard the tension inside of her, goodness knows where, strain even more. It felt as though everything in her was drawn tight, rigid, ready to snap. She could almost hear a strange elastic stretching noise, as though she was preparing for it. What held her back? In all honesty, if anyone was allowed to snap, it would be her in this moment. Having to choose between her friends and her... poltergeist... and then finding her decision was not appreciated by anyone, being treated like dirt...

She was allowed to let loose. This once.

But she had this silly little thing called pride- though this may have been foolishness rather than pride- and it would not let her do anything that would damage the upperhand she had taken. She knew it. She was on the high ground right now. And she was determined to keep it. Too many times she had been in the ditch, it was time for her to take this stand.

He ordered her to use water, and she stared at him. Eventually, she would, but at her leisure. She had won this round; things were on her terms. She watched him drink the wine, which she had known had been intended mostly for her, though his plans seemed to have fallen through. He told her she had gained a point, and while she did not feel the expected smugness, she did feel that tension straining.

She turned and strode into the bathroom, ripping off a piece of toilet paper and running it under the sink after spinning the tap. She pressed the damp paper to her head and rubbed, trying to rid her face of the red smear. She did not want it on her face anymore than he did. She already had one reminder of the pain he had caused her on her head. She ran a finger down the scar on the side of her head, her skin prickling.

She stared at her reflection, not noticing the ways her fingers twitched violently as she gripped the sink sides, her own stare piercing her eyes as she stared at the mirror. Shame, fear, grief, anger, frustration, confusion... All weakness, all unacceptable. It was time to step up and be an adult in the situation.

She left the bathroom, and began walking back into the main room, though with each step she felt that tension inside her growing and growing and growing. Words from that day, from the summer party, came floating back to haunt her. She knew they would, but so soon... She had never thought the repercussions would be so quick...

"Chase, let's just go. I don't want to deal with that thing and her. Jack if you want to be our friend, you will either come with us and leave this thing behind, or you can stay with Vito and be miserable. I'm sick of these games."

“Wow, you’re actually playing this game? I thought I was the only one who treated Jack like shit and then pulled her back as if she was something I owned… but look at you two, you got it just right! You know”- Vito paused to blow a large cloud of gray smoke from his parted lips- “This would be a lot more fun if we had a race or something to win her,” Vito added sarcastically to prove his point, and though his words sounded rather harsh, he was still pointing out the fact that it was a rather twisted game they were all playing. “Or pin the tail on the donkey… maybe even some rock-paper-scissors!”

She could not hold on any longer. She came to a halt in the middle of floor and her eyes closed, though no expression came on her face. She swallowed once, her hands still twitching like mad, her mouth working as though trying to form a smirk, or a smile, or a frown, but succeeding in nothing, just twitching. She took in a deep breath-

Snap.

Her arms began to quake and she felt tears press against the back of her eyelids, though she refused to let those floodgates open. She was not Chase. She did shed tears. She held them back. She swallowed again and her hand went up to her face, as she pressed her eyes with her thumb and her forefinger, her palm covering her mouth, revealing the twitching knuckles and quaking hands. She had lost control; she was just trapped in a body that would not let her break down. In a crackling, strained voice, she said, barely above a whisper, "Why can't I h-hate you?"

OOC: Ooooh, plot twist! XD

Vito had watched intently as the last strand of Jack’s curly, untamed red hair had whipped around the corner as she stepped into the bathroom…and Vito nearly stumbled over onto the floor of his bedroom when he realized that he was momentarily free of her presence; he had been holding his breath, locking it within his lungs in order to keep himself steady, and calm, but it had deprived his brain of oxygen and left him feeling as if he had just stepped off of a carnival ride by the time he finally allowed himself to draw in another deep breath.

He had told Jack that they would break down together, that they had seen each other at their worst and that, therefore, there was nothing preventing the two of them from crashing and burning at the same time- but when faced with the option of either exposing his weakest side to the person he probably hated most in the world, or crumbling to pieces in the dark, he would certainly, always choose the latter. It had a great deal to do with pride, something which a narcissistic person like Vito couldn’t stand to injure.

With a firm grip on the side of his mattress, Vito slowly steadied himself, using his elbow first, and then his palm to push himself upward until he was standing once more. He could hear the sink running in the bathroom, trickling off of Jack’s hands and down the drain- most likely a light shade of red due to the blood that the water was being mixed with- along with the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears, the two sounds combining to make a sloppy heartbeat, clear and deafening in Vito’s ears, as if he were having an Echocardiogram done.

“It’s a bothersome thing. Perhaps one day I’ll make a deal with the devil, sell both my soul and let him cut out my heart, sure I’ll have a scar, but I’ve heard that they have potions to remove scars in a matter of seconds…” Vito hissed under his breath, as if he were actually considering the possibility- as if it were actually possible. Vito wasn’t human after all, and therefore, there was a small chance that the laws that applied to humans- such as owning a beating heart and a living soul –weren’t required in order for Vito to continue on with his life of being shipped off from one miserable, vengeful being to the next.

Miserable, vengeful being…

“No- I’m not,” Vito corrected his thoughts firmly, as if they had a life of their own and he had to round them up occasionally in order to make sure they didn’t run wild, “I have Satin’s, and I won Jack”. Vito Dee Symons could have anything that he wanted, at any given moment as long as he was carrying the appropriate amount of money around with him in the pockets of his fine suit. He could have the world- he was the king of the world- and yet, misery loved company…

As if on cue, the noise of the sink in the bathroom ceased, and there was silence- all except for the steady rhythm of Vito’s heartbeat, which he was sure Jack could hear from where she was standing in the bathroom on the far side of the room. Vito drew in a breath and brought his hand to his tie, smoothing it out so that it lay flat and unwrinkled against the dark blue vest he wore, one that he favored greatly. He reached for the bottle of wine that he Jack had opened, extending his arm, and then his fingers in order to grab hold of the thing- when a redhead entered the room slowly, her footsteps sounding as uneven and shaky as Vito’s breathing had when he had fallen.

The poltergeist slowly moved his fingers away from the darkly colored bottle of alcohol and dropped his arm at his side, his attention now stolen by the only other being in the room; she was shaking violently, as if she had stepped out of a freezer after hours without heat, the blood running through her veins too chilled to reheat her frozen body- however, Vito was positive that his bathroom was not a freezer. “Redhead…?” Vito began, pushing off of the bed, taking a few slow steps towards the young female, as if afraid that she were a trap about to go off at any moment- curiosity killed the cat.

As Vito neared, it became more and more clear to him why Jack Dyllan was shaking so terribly, though it did take him quite a deal of time to connect the dots even after he was given the clues to work with; he had seen Jack torn and drunk, deprived of what made her who she was- but this was a level that she had never reached; a side of the enemy that Vito had never seen- and Jack was allowing him to watch as her soul died. Another step forward, but Vito couldn't peek into her brain, for she had closed her eyes to him.

“Open your eyes…” he requested, his voice drifting from his throat in a way that sounded so much softer than he usually allowed; he wanted to surprise her in some way in order to get her to do what he wanted; Vito wanted to see the death in her eyes, despite the fact that he could not harm her himself- but his thoughts and plans were interrupted by a simple question, which caused his mind to go on ‘lockdown’ mode the second the words left the female's mouth . . .

“Why can't I h-hate you?”

There was momentary silence as Vito stood before Jack, staring at her eyelids, as if they would open on his command. He could practically feel her movement as her body shook, despite the distance between them, as if every twitch was a shockwave that could be felt throughout his entire body, “For the same reason I can’t hurt you… you got too curious, and you got too close…”- Vito moved his arm upward until his hand hovered near Jack’s shoulder, which he then wrapped his fingers around firmly; he wondered if he could feel her bones rattling within her skin, and simply could not resist- “and now you’ve hit a wall, because you’ve spent too much time bickering with me… too much time trying to figure out how I tick,” Vito answered, explaining both his and Jack’s side of the story at once, “now you care.”

It took him a few moments to force his body to move once more- to force his mind to work.

Vito dropped both arms at his side, and turned to his side, walking to his bedside table in a few strides. He curled his fingers around the small knob of the drawer in the lower half of the sleek wooden table and gave it a pull so that the drawer slid out with ease, “I was planning on using this at another time… if I found it too unbearable that you continue to refuse to hate me,” Vito explained, his voice steady but quiet- quieter than usual, as if he were too preoccupied with what he was doing to speak at the same time. “But… I suppose, I never expected such a situation as this to arise,” Vito continued as he pulled a small, metal box from the deep drawer, turning and setting it upon his bed. With a blank expression, Vito pushed the drawer closed and turned his full attention back to the box, now with a key the size of his smallest finger in his hand.

The key fit snuggly within the lock, and made a small click! upon being turned, signaling that the lock had been successfully deactivated with the small silver key which Vito then placed within his pocket. “There is such a thing as a hate potion, as I'm sure you've learned in one of those neat classes of yours… and I have been lucky enough to obtain a few vials of the substance,” the poltergeist spoke, slowly turning to look at Jack once more. Though his expression remained completely blank, he was unbearably curious to learn who Jack Dyllan really was, and there was no better test than the one Vito had just presented her with.